


bad decisions and how to deal with them (badly)

by sugacoatedmonstax (thexcleverxone)



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, EXO (Band), Monsta X (Band), NCT (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Everyone is in this eventually, Multi, everything is shitty au, hope no one minds, lapslock, like i mean everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thexcleverxone/pseuds/sugacoatedmonstax
Summary: Bad decisions often lead to worse outcomes, wherein even worse decisions are made, to make a bad situation the absolute worst.And here's how you deal with it.(Badly).





	1. chanyeol

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings: heavily implied rape of a minor
> 
> does lapslock count as a warning? sorry in advance.
> 
> hi this is purely self-indulgent and i figured as long as i'm storing it somewhere online for safe keeping and easy access, i might as well share it if anyone's interested o/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chanyeol doesn't know how to raise kids, doesn't really want to learn.
> 
> especially when it's his sister's.
> 
> and he's getting custody because she's dying.

when the phone rings for the first time at seven am on a sunday, chanyeol sleeps through it. and the second one. he's groggy the third time, and finally awake enough to answer the fourth time. the caller id says it's yura, and he squints at the bright screen, wondering why on earth she's calling so early when she _knows_ he stays up too late.

"hello?" he mumbles, face half buried in his pillow as he fights not to fall back asleep.

"yeol-ah?" she says, almost a question. her voice sounds strained, worried even, and it has chanyeol feeling a little more awake, struggling to prop himself on his elbows and not drop the phone on the floor.

"yeah? what's up? is something wrong, noona?" he asks.

there's a pause that lasts so long chanyeol's afraid she's hung up, before she sighs, low and tired. "uhm. this isn't really something i can say over the phone. do you have time to come over?"

that's worrisome. worrisome enough that he's almost entirely awake, lumbering to his feet and trying not to trip over his pajama pants. "i, uh—" he starts, tripping over them anyway and knocking into the wall on his way to the bathroom. "shit. um. yeah, yeah gimme like...twenty minutes?" he says, hoping he's awake and alive enough to get over to her place by then. no good trying to rush to her aid and knocking out behind the wheel.

"okay," she agrees, voice soft, and rough with some emotion that's hard to make out through the tinny phone speakers. "i just. i need your help."

and if that doesn't tug at his heart, he doesn't know what does. "i'll be there. you know i'd do anything for you, noona."

"i know." a pause. "thank you, chanyeol."

"i'll see you soon," he says, trying not to slip on the mess of towels and shirts on the bathroom floor.

"see you," she murmurs, sounding an awful lot like she's going to hang up, and chanyeol gets a horrible, twisting feeling in his stomach.

"wait!" he almost shouts, ignoring her small, 'yeah?' from the other end. "i love you, noona."

another pause, way too long for his liking. "you too," she finally says, hanging up before he can stop her.

it's the first time she's never said it back, and it leaves him frowning into the mirror as he gets ready faster than he ever has before.

 

the drive to yura's place takes fifteen minutes when traffic is normal, and eight if he pushes it, squeezing through yellow lights and cruising at five over, sometimes ten when he knows the cops aren't around to pull him over. he beats his record this time, making it in seven after blowing through a red that'd just changed, but yura doesn't need to know that.

he feels shaky and sick as he steps up to the door, thoughts a mess of morbid _what ifs?_ yura didn't sound good over the phone, had something so bad to say she wanted to see him in person, and it bothers him more than he'd like that it sounds like she's distancing herself from him. _you too_ instead of _i love you, too_ , and that worries him more than anything else so far.

it takes him three tries to work up a decent knock, and three times as long for jisung to answer the door. jisung, chanyeol's nephew. yura's son. he's fifteen if chanyeol remembers right, skinnier than chanyeol is, with a bright smile—usually—that he gets from his mother. today it's a shaky little thing, looking as sick as chanyeol feels, but he tries to paste on his own smile to make it all even a little bit better. but for jisung to look so upset, it only solidifies that something is horribly, terribly _wrong_. "hey buddy."

"you're here to see mom, right?" he asks, skipping the oddly disturbing _hi uncle chanyeol_ that always makes him so uncomfortable. mainly because he's only twenty-four, and that feels way too young to be called _uncle_. then again, yura's only twenty-seven, and chanyeol feels like that's way too young for her to be called _mom_ by a kid only nine years younger than chanyeol himself. he swallows, trying not to remember the circumstances that made it all possible.

"yeah, she called. she okay?" he asks, stepping in when jisung moves back to let him in. yura's apartment isn't usually the cleanest, because she works two jobs and jisung spends most of his days in school, but it's even worse when chanyeol gets a good look around. the dishes haven't been done, laundry piled on top of and around the washer and dryer, take out boxes strewn across the floor. chanyeol's answered in his head before jisung can even speak again.

"she's sick," he offers, leading chanyeol back towards the bedroom. "and says i can't come in, that it's 'grown-ups' talk. as if i'm still a kid," he sniffs, petulant, and chanyeol wheezes out the breath of a laugh. he remembers being a brat at fifteen, too.

"it's probably taxes and loans and lawyers and jobs—you know, gross grown-up stuff," chanyeol says, patting the boy's fluffy hair and spinning him around toward his own room. "go play some video games while you wait? see how many times your high score can beat mine, and i'll tell you how many days you're allowed to make fun of me for after, okay?"

jisung laughs, the first normal sound of the morning, and gives chanyeol what he thinks is supposed to be a wink, but it's more like both eyes closing awkwardly at the same time. it's cute, and his heart feels like it's melting all down his insides. "you're already ranked fifteen out of the top scores, but i'm sure i can make it twenty," he challenges.

"yeah? you're on," chanyeol laughs, giving him a gentle nudge. "you have until me and your mom are done talking—go!"

he gets a thumbs up and a bright grin before jisung is disappearing into his room, and chanyeol has to steady himself with several deep breaths before he steps into yura's.

he knocks lightly before opening the door, having to close it behind himself immediately for something to lean on, because his knees feel weak.

yura looks _awful_. 

she hadn't sounded so great over the phone, no, but he really hadn't been expecting the greasy hair, the shadows under her eyes, the sallow skin tone, or her collarbones that stand out so starkly against her skin. she looks like she's _dying_ , and chanyeol's heart seizes so hard in his chest he has to slide down the door and sit down, gasping in a shaky breath.

"...noona?"

she smiles, but it's small and sickly and terrible because yura looks _awful_. and that's not right, chanyeol thinks, because yura is _beautiful_. the prettiest sister anyone could ever have in the entire world. "hi yeol-ah," she whispers.

chanyeol knows it's been a few months since the last time he was able to do more than text her, but he hadn't expected this. she'd seemed fine, then.

"what's wrong?" he asks, voice too soft, but she seems to hear it anyway.

"i'm sick," she says needlessly. it sounds like a resignation, and all of chanyeol's horrible, morbid _what ifs_ are back. what if it's cancer, or some other horrible disease that's killing her?

he's scared, he realizes, and he suddenly feels like he's five again, hiding in the closet with her from the monsters that are trying to get them. except not them, this time, just her, and he's too afraid to do anything to help. "it looks like more than the flu," he whispers, voice gone. _you can't tell me it's cancer. please don't say it's cancer._  

she clutches at the pillow in her grip like her life depends on it, and chanyeol feels horrible that he's sitting on the floor all the way across the room instead of giving her his hand to hold, but his knees won't work, his legs won't work, nothing works because he's numb and _terrified_. "more like several flues. and a couple colds. and some other things they weren't quite sure of," she says, sniffling for good measure.

"i don't understand." they as in doctors? weren't they supposed to be smart, and have all the fancy research tools to figure everything out? how could they be unsure of what was making yura so sick?

"my immune system is compromised," she says, like she's trying to explain something to chanyeol without saying the right words, and he still doesn't understand. "that's why i have several illnesses all at once."

"shouldn't you be at the hospital?" he asks, voice breaking pathetically. "i mean, if your immune system doesn't work right, and you already have a bunch of flues, and—shouldn't you be at the hospital getting antibiotics or whatever it is that they do for those?" he feels choked, rushed, like he's desperate to get her to see she needs to be _there_ , and not at home where she'll just get more sick. didn't she know how many horrible germs jisung probably brought home from school every day?

"i don't have the money for that, chanyeol, you know that," she chides, gentle and sad. "and besides. they said there isn't anything they can do about it anyway." there's something in her eyes, pleading with him to understand, but he _doesn't_.

 "how can they not do anything? they're _doctors_."

she sighs, running trembling fingers through her limp hair. "it's incurable, chanyeol," she tries, voice taking on the same desperate edge that's coloring his own tone.

it takes him a solid minute to work up his voice again, and even then, it's barely a whisper, his entire body tingling like it's falling asleep, or like he's going to pass out. he's hyperventilating, he realizes, and he tries to slow his breathing. "is...is it cancer?"

yura laughs, sad and choked. her eyes are wet and chanyeol's heart is breaking, splitting in all directions at once so it feels like it's choking him, even as it's falling out his stomach and through the floor. "i wish. at least they could do something about that."

"i don't understand," he repeats, voice so breathless and gone it's more of an impression than actual words.

yura's whole face scrunches up, like she's in pain, but chanyeol's so dizzy with fear he still can't move. he hates himself, especially when she says, "you remember when you were eight, and i was eleven?"

he tries not to. every single day since that day he tries not to. "y-yeah."

"you remember what happened?" her voice is soft, no longer carrying the desperation chanyeol feels bubbling up inside him until it wants to spill over, but rather resigned, almost.

yura didn't come home from volleyball practice when she should have, and after an intense search with police help they'd found her in a dumpster in an alleyway, four blocks from home. _four blocks_. chanyeol can't even speak, so he just nods.

"and you know how we went to the doctor then?"

minor cuts and bruises. genital trauma. _rape_. she'd been pregnant at 11. three days after her birthday. chanyeol's going to throw up.

"i didn't tell you then, because i didn't want you to worry. but with all the tests they'd run, the doctors...found something," she says, eyes watching his carefully, but he can't even see her because everything is blurred with tears. he doesn't want to put it together, he doesn't, because it's worse than the worst of his _what ifs_.

"no," he chokes out. maybe if he refuses the entire situation, it'll all go away.

"they said i was hiv positive, but that it didn't look like one of the more aggressive strains, that i might just wind up a carrier."

he has no idea how she can sound so calm about this when his entire world is breaking around him because _she's_ his world and she's _dying_.

"of course, i guess it's not hard to see now that that's not true."

there's a horrible, gut-wrenching sound that fills the silence after, and it takes chanyeol a second to realize that it's him, and he's sobbing, wheezing and gasping. he wanted to hold it together and be strong for her, but _fuck_ he can't.

"they don't expect me to be around much longer." it's breathed into the space between his hitched breaths, the hiccups that hurt because he can't breathe right, and he has the childish urge to yell at her to take it all back. if she doesn't say it, it's not real.

she's quiet for a minute, before her voice takes on a horrible, business-like tone that makes chanyeol want to throw up. "i need you to do something for me," she starts. he can't meet her worried gaze, and he feels guilty because she's the one _dying_ , but he's the wreck.

 _i'm sorry noona, i just—_  

"a-anything," he promises, voice louder than he means it to be, but he can't help himself.

"i need you to take care of jisung for me," she says, grabbing some papers off of her nightstand. "i know it's going to be hard, but i...asked him the other day, who he'd prefer to stay with if it came to an extended vacation—mom and dad in new york, or you here. he chose you, because he doesn't know them very well, doesn't trust them like he trusts you. and i don't want him having to move countries or learn a new language and get made fun of, and—" she pauses, but not nearly long enough for it to sink in for chanyeol. "but he's a good kid, you know. it'll be fine. and i mean, plus side is you can claim him on your taxes? you'll get a lot more money back."

chanyeol's stomach heaves, but thankfully nothing comes up all over yura's carpet.

 _the benefits to having kids 101: more money back on your taxes_. it feels like a sick infomercial.

"and i'm going to try to knock out the last thousand on my car before i...go, but if i don't, at least it's not too much, i'm so sorry," she continues after a second, clearing her throat and chanyeol hates that she sounds like she's crying now, too. "a-and i already had a lawyer draw up the necessary papers to get jisung into your custody. all you need to do is s-sign."

 _why yura? why yura? why yura?_ not that he'd wish this on anyone else, but why did it have to be _her?_

"and if you need more i-income for him, i talked to my boss. he said there's a warehouse hiring. it's good money, and even if you only worked a couple days a week, it'd be e-enough to help." she sounds desperate again, like she's pleading with him to help her.

like she thinks he won't.

 _you know i'd do anything for you_ is not an empty phrase.

"chanyeol," she begs, worried now, voice high and thready.

chanyeol finally moves, trembling hands coming up to wipe at his eyes, run through his hair and he clears his throat two, three, four times before he can speak, and even then it's choked with the tears that are still slipping down his cheeks. "g-gimme just a second. i. i need a minute to s-stand."

a minute to stand, to compose himself, get his breathing and shaking under control. after all, he needs a steady hand to sign the papers, doesn't he?

she's quiet then, waiting, and he finally hauls himself to his feet, unsteady but upright. it takes him another minute to make it to her bedside table, to sit on the bed beside her. she hands him a pen wordlessly, and it's not his best, but it's his name, scrawled on the bottom line. he didn't even read the papers, still can't bring himself to.

"thank you," she whispers, leaning into him, and his arms are around her then, holding her as close as possible because, for the moment at least, she's _here_ , and he never wants to let her go again.

"...when does it go into effect?" he finds himself asking, not wanting to know, but curious all the same.

the answer terrifies him. "now," she breathes, laying her head in his lap to hide her tears, he assumes, because he can feel the warm wet soaking through his worn jeans. "jisung has a bag or two packed for a two week stay with you. you can come back and get his things, as needed."

chanyeol feels cold, despite how warm it is in the room. "is that...is that..." he can't even finish the sentence, fear choking him until he can't speak at all.

"they aren't sure." the words are so quiet he can barely hear them, but that's okay, he thinks, because he doesn't want to hear them anyway. "but they aren't o-optimistic."

he doesn't know what to say to that, and she must not feel the need to say anything else, because she goes quiet then. and for the next five hours, he strokes her hair, holds her hand, and they cry.

_"taxes and loans and lawyers and jobs—you know, gross grown-up stuff."_

he doesn't know how he's going to face jisung when he walks out that door.

 

with a fake smile, and a lot of lying, he finds.

 _don't tell him, chanyeol, please. he doesn't need that._  

 _he should know that his mom won't be around much longer._  

 _i couldn't bear to see him break down like you did. do you know how hard it is when he hurts himself and cries? or gets picked on in school? i couldn't take the kind of tears if he knew. please chanyeol, this is all i want._  

it's a low blow, writing it off as some last dying wish, and she knows him well enough to know that he'll keep his promises to her. no matter what. even if he thinks it's stupid and selfish.

then again, watching yura break down in front of him just now, and all the times growing up after the fact was all more painful than anything else he'd ever encountered. breaking four ribs, his arm, and fracturing his ankle falling out of the tree in seventh grade had nothing on the pain of the last few hours.

he gets it, he does.

but he thinks it's stupid, and that makes it all the more difficult to keep his smile in place when jisung pokes his head out of his room. "you guys done?"

 _i won't be able to take it. tell him i'm sleeping, chanyeol, i can't see him._  

 _noona—_  

 _make sure he knows i love him. that's all i ask._  

 _..._  

 _promise me, chanyeol._  

 _...i promise._  

"yeah," chanyeol says, voice as light as he can manage. "sorry it took so long. we got caught up."

"gossiping?" jisung teases with an uneasy laugh. "mom always said you were more like her sister anyway, with how similar you guys look."

chanyeol laughs, thankful that he doesn't burst into tears on the spot. how hard will it be, for jisung to live with him, after yura dies? it's not an exaggeration how similar they look—chanyeol's worn wigs and passed off as yura before. "you guys are so mean to me."

jisung holds his hand up like he's pledging something important, voice taking on the _tone_. "mom always told me to tell you that it's because we love you that we make fun of you." he can't keep serious for long though, and bursts into giggles right after.

chanyeol can feel the panic seeping cold into his everything. he can't do this. he can't raise a kid—a _teenager_. especially because he just knows that this laughing and teasing and joking is going to be gone soon. after all, what kid stays happy after their mom _dies_? 

"uh huh, sure," chanyeol says after a way-too-long pause, ruffling jisung's hair and turning him back towards his room. "now your mom said something about a tiny little getaway, didn't she? so let's get your bags and head out. you're hungry right? it's lunch time, isn't it?" he checks his watch. it's a quarter to one.

"and i get to go to your place?" jisung asks, seeming eager, excited almost.

"yeah," chanyeol says, grinning as best he can. "it'll be your first time over."

jisung disappears for a second, coming back with two duffel bags and a pillow under his arm. it makes him seem so innocent, younger than he is, and chanyeol coughs to hold back the sound of anguish stuck in his throat. "is it cool?"

"it's super cool," chanyeol assures, hoping dara posters and iron man throws over the back of his secondhand couch count for cool. his keyboard and guitars are pretty cool, in any case. "you'll love it."

jisung squints at him, like he's pretty sure chanyeol's lying. "i bet you're just saying that. maybe it's super lame, and i'll cry from boredom in like, the first five minutes."

chanyeol laughs at that, shaking his head. he's known, himself, for over-exaggerating things, yura herself a bit of a drama queen. it must run in the family, chanyeol thinks. it makes him sad, and he pushes it down with an arm over jisung's shoulder, steering him toward the front door. "never judge a book by its cover, didn't your mom teach you that?"

"probably," jisung agrees airily, going along with everything just fine until they hit the door. he stops then, glancing up at chanyeol with a worried frown. "aren't you gonna let me say goodbye to mom before i head out? i should probably let her know i'm leaving. otherwise it counts for like, kidnapping or something."

chuckling at the words is one of the most difficult things chanyeol's ever done. putting a finger to his lips and grinning like the schoolgirl jisung thinks of him as counts for even more difficult. getting the right amount of playful tone in his voice has to be the hardest. "she's sleeping right now, and you know how she gets when she's woken up. she knows we're gonna be off on an adventure, but you can call her later to let her know the dragons didn't get us."

jisung looks at him blankly for a second before bursting out into laughter, pushing chanyeol away. "oh my _god_ you're so lame. i can't believe you're my _uncle_." and then he's slipping out the door and into the hallway before chanyeol can grab him.

"don't say that word, especially like _that_ ," chanyeol whines, slipping out after him and locking up. the offended pout he shoots at jisung as he sticks his tongue out and skips down the hall, on the other hand, comes easy as breathing.

 _maybe this won't be so bad_ , he thinks, begging his logical mind to accept it, and not think of everything horrible to come. _maybe this will actually be fun._

 

"your car is way cooler than mom's," is what he's greeted with when they wind up together again in the parking garage. chanyeol can't help grinning. said car is a nice shiny black bmw that probably costs two or three times what yura's honda cost brand new.

"i told you i was cool," chanyeol defends, laughing and unlocking the doors. a bit of a worrywart himself, and now responsible for jisung in all aspects, he waits for the boy to get in first, door slammed shut before he gets into his own side.

"i just kind of thought you were lying," jisung admits, eyes wide as he takes in the nice leather interior, the fancy bells and whistles. "i mean. you're you."

"you're gonna have to be nicer to me if you want me to buy you lunch," chanyeol says, trying to sound stern, but more than anything, he's amused.

"you're going to buy me lunch anyway," jisung says, confident as he grins chanyeol's way.

chanyeol's mouth opens to retort, although he really doesn't have anything to say to the contrary. so he settles for a grin instead, making sure they're both buckled in before pulling out of the spot. "yeah, i will," he agrees, tone casual, anticipating. "but if you continue being a brat, i won't let you play with my drum set." yeah, he has one of those, too.

"what?" jisung asks, eyes wide as he leans forward in his seat to better see chanyeol's face. "no way! you're lying!"

chanyeol just laughs. "have i lied to you yet?" chanyeol asks, the words tasting bitter on his tongue as soon as he says them. he hadn't...until today.

"i guess not," he mumbles, sitting back properly in his seat as chanyeol pulls out into traffic. "but it's just so hard to accept that you're cool."

chanyeol keeps his laughter as quiet as possible, so as not to offend poor jisung. "and why is that?"

jisung shrugs. "i dunno. i guess because you're my uncle. uncles are supposed to be weird and older. and you're kind of both. so by extension, you can never be cool."

ouch. "i am the coolest uncle, i'll have you know. just you wait and see," chanyeol says, trying hard not to frown. it's all well and good for jisung to be a little shit for kicks, but if he actually thinks so poorly of chanyeol, this whole...adopting thing isn't going to go over so well.

jisung laughs, shaking his head. "haven't you ever watched any of mom's dramas?" he asks, sticking his tongue out. chanyeol has to struggle to breathe. it's not his fault that yura is dying, but _god_ , he feels guilty anyway.

"those are trashy and they don't actually teach you anything, you know," chanyeol says, instead of answering the question.

jisung sees right through him, snickering. "so which one was your favorite?"

chanyeol sighs. "you don't have a sister, jisung, you wouldn't understand."

jisung laughs louder at that, feet stomping against the floorboard as chanyeol pulls into the closest restaurant. ...if mcdonald's can be called a restaurant. "just admit you're uncool and like teen dramas, it's okay. i won't judge."

chanyeol turns the ignition off, moving in his seat until one elbow is propped up on the steering wheel, the other on the back of his seat. he tries to be stern, but he's not actually bothered, so his derisive snort is more laughter than anything. "how about i'm super cool, and if you don't accept it i won't teach you to play guitar either," he says, grinning wide to beat down the mess of emotions that want to well up.

 _or i'll send you back to your mom_ was on the tip of his tongue, and that wouldn't have gone over any kind of well at all, for several reasons.

jisung squints at him again. "there's no way you play drums _and_ guitar," he says, finally moving to unbuckle himself, chanyeol following suit seconds later.

"keyboard is off limits now, too," chanyeol announces with a grin, getting out of the car before he can see jisung's face.

"yah!" the boy practically squeals, door slamming a moment later as his head pops up on the other side of the car. "that's not any fair."

"i told you to be nice to me," is all chanyeol has to offer.

jisung's pout is a spectacular sight to behold.

 

"can i have a milkshake?" is the first question jisung asks as soon as they're inside. there's only one older couple in line ahead of them, the boy behind the register looking straight up murderous.

"sure," chanyeol says, if only to appease him and have their order ready by the time they get to the counter. "but just this once."

"see, i knew you weren't cool," is what jisung counters this with, and chanyeol huffs, ruffling jisung's hair so badly that it's a mess of fluffy blond strands sticking up in all directions. "hey!"

"do you know what you want?" chanyeol asks through his laughter, winking _properly_. "should we order off the kiddie menu for you?"

"and you say _i'm_ the mean one."

chanyeol just shrugs. "you started it."

it's their turn then, and chanyeol moves them up to the counter, trying to stare as inconspicuously as possible. the boy's name tag reads 'taehyung.' he's got dark hair falling into darker eyes, lips twisted in upset it seems, but it's the bruise over his cheekbone and nose, standing out against his tanned skin that draws chanyeol's eyes. his heart feels heavy, and he wishes his mom hadn't raised with him the instinct to protect any and everything.

 _jisung could sleep with me, and this kid could have the spare room. i could make it work—_  

"take a picture, it lasts longer," the boy says after a minute, voice surprisingly low—almost as deep as chanyeol's. it's husky in the most pleasing way, and chanyeol suddenly wants to bring him home to sing for him.

...in a completely not phantom of the opera-esque way, of course.

"sorry," chanyeol coughs out, turning eyes to jisung. "how's a number two sound for you? we'll replace the drink with a milkshake, sound good?"

"sure," jisung sniffs, fingers still trying to comb his hair into place.

"what flavor?" chanyeol asks, trying not to take notice of the worker's—taehyung's—bruised knuckles as he types it into the register with a lot more force than chanyeol thinks is really necessary.

"what flavor what?" jisung asks, drawing his eyes from the boy in front of them as well to meet chanyeol's gaze guiltily.

"milkshake," chanyeol clarifies.

"oh. strawberry." he's still staring, so chanyeol grabs his shoulders, spinning him out toward the lobby.

"go pick a seat for us, okay? i'll be there in a second."

"is that everything for you," taehyung says, voice too flat to be the question chanyeol's sure it's meant to be.

"and a number one," chanyeol rushes to supply, not wanting to anger taehyung any further. the kid looks like he's having a horrible day, and chanyeol doesn't want to add to it. "with a large coffee instead of soda. black." he pauses. "please," he tacks on.

taehyung won't meet his eyes, punching a few more keys on the screen before pointing at the card reader in front of chanyeol. "total is $9.76. you'll be order 302."

"thanks," chanyeol mumbles, sliding his card and bypassing the pin entirely to speed the process up. taehyung's glaring at the receipt printer like it personally killed his dog, and it's starting to make chanyeol uncomfortable.

eleven long seconds later the printer spits up the receipt and taehyung practically throws it at him with a hasty, "have a not awful day," before he's turning and slipping into the back of the restaurant.

chanyeol stands there for a moment, more worried than he should be for some pissy cashier at a shitty fast food place, finally stuffing the receipt in his hoodie pocket and moving to sit in the corner with jisung. it's a booth, and chanyeol's just relieved he didn't pick one of the high stools in the direct sunlight. there's a headache starting up behind his eyes, and the darker seat feels like heaven after the bright menu boards.

"wonder what was with that kid," jisung mumbles, dipping his little finger into the paper cup of ketchup he must have grabbed while chanyeol finished paying.

"i dunno," chanyeol mumbles, hoping to drop the topic. he has an idea, and it's not anything good, or that he wants to be talking about in public. besides, it's rude to talk about people.

"bet he got in a fight or something," jisung continues after an uncomfortable beat, licking the ketchup off his finger. "probably lost. i bet that's why he's so mad."

"you can't just assume things like that, jisung," chanyeol chides, giving himself a mental pat on the back. he already sounds like a parent—gold star for him. "you don't know anything about him."

jisung just shrugs, like it's no big deal. "we have a lot of older kids in school that run around all beat up like that. they're always getting into fights," he says, as if that excuses everything.

"we're order 302," chanyeol says after another pause, changing the topic completely and hoping jisung rolls with it. "so pay attention when they call stuff out. i did my duty today and bought you lunch, you get to go grab it."

jisung flops onto the table in such a dramatic fashion that chanyeol's almost proud. "child labor, i see how it is," he laments, although the laughter in his voice ruins the act a little.

"oh yes, you've found my dark secret," chanyeol says, playing along.

jisung laughs, unable to come up with anything else to say before their number is called, and he's back seconds later, placing the tray on the table and nearly knocking everything over. he laughs again, chanyeol reaching out to help steady his coffee and fries, jisung plopping down with the brightest eye-smile he's seen in a long time.

"oops."

chanyeol downs half his coffee in one go, blaming the moisture in his eyes on the scalding hot liquid.

_noona i don't know how i'm going to do this._

the rest of lunch passes without incident, jisung talking about school and friends, and about the fact that he knocked chanyeol all the way off the top score board of mario kart and "i can make fun of you forever now, right?" it's calming, almost, and chanyeol lets himself get lost in the feeling of it. it'll be a nice routine, one he can definitely get used to.

it's after they've thrown their trash away that chanyeol nudges jisung's shoulder, handing him the keys to the car. "go wait for me in the car, okay? i'll be right out."

jisung just stares at him like he's grown a second head. to chanyeol's knowledge, he's only got one, and he even brushed his hair this morning. "what."

"go wait in the car for me. i have to use the restroom, i'll be right out," he repeats, nodding his head toward the exit.

jisung still looks kind of lost, kind of hesitant, but he nods, moving toward the door. "don't take too long, or i might steal it!" he taunts.

"yeah, you steal it, and we'll have words with your mother," he calls, thankful his voice doesn't break. what should be easy banter has suddenly become the hardest thing for chanyeol to do, and he quirks his lips, swallowing down emotions and making his way back to the counter.

"hello?" he calls, fiddling with his wallet.

a pretty girl with purple dip-dyed hair comes up to the counter, eyes widening in recognition at about the same time chanyeol's mind puts the dots together. her name tag reads 'yerim,' but chanyeol's special and gets to call her, "yeri." it's breathed quietly, because he's too full of feelings to speak any louder.

she looks better than the last time he saw her, definitely, bruised and bloodied on his bathroom floor, messy and crying and drowning in his clothes. he swallows again to get rid of the memory, smile huge and genuine. he feels like fucking flying.

"hi oppa," she says with her own smile, planting her hands on the counter. sparkly nails top her fingertips, and that's better than when she was missing three entirely. "fancy seeing you here."

"yeah," he says, unsure what else to say. "it's good to see you." the _i'm so glad you're still okay and not dead or worse_ is implied, because there are some things you don't say in polite society.

"it's good to see you, too," she says, leaning in a little closer. "something i can help you with?" the joking tone of her voice sounds like heaven compared to the dark memories he has, and he's just so _glad_. she's _okay_ and _smiling_ with a _job_ and—

"i was actually here to ask about the cashier that took my order," he admits, smile fading. "taehyung, i think was his name?"

her face closes off almost immediately, and that's worrisome, chanyeol thinks. "his shift ended," she says, tone leaving no room for questions.

chanyeol raises his hands a little in defense, showing off his wallet as he reaches in slowly to grab two bills. "i just wanted to give him something," he says, frowning. "would that be okay?"

surprise flits across her face, so genuine it hurts. how many customers come up to say awful things about taehyung, he wonders? "you want to give him a tip?"

"yeah," chanyeol mumbles, taking a deep breath before he smiles again. "and now that i know you're here too, well." he brandishes both bills, handing them to her. "can you give him his, when he comes in again?" he asks.

"of course," she says, grinning again and looking oddly like she wants to cry. "he'll appreciate it. and i appreciate it. thanks, oppa."

"you're welcome," chanyeol says, stuffing his wallet back in his pocket. he's quiet for a second, before he moves to step away. "i guess i'll let you get back to work. i shouldn't leave jisung alone for too long," he starts.

"wait," she says, before he can get anywhere. he turns, watching curiously as she dips behind the counter for a second, reappearing with a small wrapped something in hand. she tosses it at him, and he catches it on reflex. she winks. "i'll see you around, oppa. be safe."

it's a happy meal toy, some little racecar from that pixar movie he never got around to watching, but the gesture is appreciated, and he's touched. "you too," he says. "take care."

"i will."

hope wells in him as he heads outside, heading toward his car which is thankfully still in the lot. (he hadn't really worried that jisung would steal it, but you never know—)

if yerim can recover this well from a year ago, maybe he and jisung can be okay after all is said and done.

it leaves him grinning, until he tries the door and finds it locked. he can hear jisung's laughter from inside as they play a game of who's faster—chanyeol grabbing the handle, or jisung locking the door. chanyeol eventually wins, and tsks at jisung as he slides into his seat.

"what's that noise for?" jisung asks, breathless from so much laughter.

"nothing," chanyeol sing-songs.

"...is everything still gonna be off-limits?" jisung asks, a pout creeping into his voice.

"mhm," chanyeol confirms, grinning. "and so is the mixer board. you're gonna have a really fun time staring at my wall at this rate."

"uncle chanyeol!"

"call me hyung!"

"hyuuung!"

 _yeah_ , chanyeol thinks, _we're gonna be okay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry. hi.


	2. taehyung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> question: what do you do when years of pent-up rage and injustice bubble to the surface at the most inopportune time?
> 
> did you say murder?
> 
> because that's not the answer.
> 
> but it's what taehyung does anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm. 
> 
> trigger warnings i guess: murder? abuse? panic attacks?
> 
> hi.

taehyung is going to _kill_ something. the amount of things that are going wrong today just keeps growing, and it takes everything in him to force a smile at the slow couple in front of him, to not jump over the counter and strangle the kid whining about a milkshake.

"should we order off the kiddie menu for you?" he catches the older guy saying, and if he weren't in such a horrible mood and a horrible rush to leave, he might have laughed.

_oppa, dad's really mad right now, i need you—_

_just stay safe okay? i'll be there as soon as i can—_  

 _oppa, i—_  

 _...taeyoung? taeyoung!_  

 _kim-ssi, i'm going to have to ask you to put your phone away before i take it away. you're at work, and it's not your break._  

 _i really have to go manager-ssi, please._  

 _whatever it is can wait until your shift is over._  

 _but—_  

 _get back to work._  

 _sir, i—_  

 _if you walk out that door, you're fired. do you hear me?_  

 _...yes, sir._  

"and you say _i'm_ the mean one," the boy whines, tone grating on taehyung's nerves so badly he wants to chuck the donation jar at him. _god_ , how do people put up with shitty teenagers every day?

the redhead shrugs. "you started it."

 _you started it, not me! this is all on you! for breathing and wasting all of my money and don't you dare blame me taehyung!_  

 _dad, stop, i—_  

 _you don't stop when i tell you to, so why should i!_  

"take a picture, it lasts longer," taehyung snarls after a second, when he realizes the tall guy in front of him is just staring at him, the little blond brat equally as mesmerized. this is why he hadn't wanted to come in today at all—bruises were way too noticeable, and he hadn't had enough for more cover up. hadn't had enough for more _anything_ because the piece of shit that called himself father had raided taehyung's room, stealing any money he'd had stashed away, and he's abruptly so angry again he wants to walk out anyway, job be damned.

"sorry," the taller says, voice deep and probably soothing to anyone but taehyung right now. his father's voice is deep—it's where he got his own from—and it's stirring up feelings he doesn't need to feel right now. the redhead turns to the younger boy again, gaze guilty, pitying almost, and taehyung feels sick. "how's a number two sound for you? we'll replace the drink with a milkshake, sound good?"

"sure," the kid sniffs, petulant about something that taehyung couldn't care less about.

"what flavor?" the older asks. taehyung wishes he could tune them out, but he has to do his job, and part of that is taking their order. and in order to do that he has to pay attention, and he _really_ wants to kill something.

 _oppa, dad's really mad right now, i need you—_  

"what flavor what?"

he shouldn't be here right now. he should be at home, taking the hit for taeyoung because she's still only sixteen and young and smaller than taehyung and—

"milkshake."

 _if he leaves another mark on her again, i swear to god—_  

"oh. strawberry."

his teeth clench together so hard it hurts. when you walk around looking like the poster child for street fights, it's hard to find jobs, and taehyung _needs_ this job. his life literally depends on it, but even still, it's _so_ hard to keep his hands and his words to himself and not walk out on the spot.

"go pick a seat for us, okay? i'll be there in a second."

he tries to hide his face and his expression with his hair, thankful the guy seems to be less into staring than before. it's probably a good thing, taehyung thinks. _or i might do something_ really _stupid._

"is that everything for you," he asks, voice a little flat to be a real question, but at least he's not yelling. or cussing. silver linings.

"and a number one," the guy says, rushed. "with a large coffee instead of soda. black." taehyung hates making coffees, but at least he wants it black, and that's the first non-complicated coffee of the day. taehyung could kiss him, if he didn't want to scream. "please." and manners, look at that.

he finishes inputting the order, hitting the screen harder than he needs to, but it's better than hitting people, he thinks. "total is $9.76," he says without preamble, pointing out the card reader because most people are stupid and can't see it right in front of them. this guy looks kind of stupid, taehyung thinks. "you'll be order 302." _as soon as the fucking receipt prints out_.

"thanks," the man breathes, making no fuss about running his card through, and taehyung almost feels bad for his mood and his shitty customer service. usually he's a lot better—one of their best. just. not today.

three angry breaths later the receipt is finally popping up, and taehyung gives it to the man as quickly as he can. "have a not awful day," he says, hoping it comes off more sincere than it sounds, because he means it. the guy looks like he's had a shitty day, too—taehyung knows the difference between 'i'm high' red eyes, and 'i just cried for fucking hours' red eyes, and the other has the latter, for sure.

he doesn't stick around to see his reaction though, scrambling to get into the back to just get away from people. he still wants to leave, but if his boss will settle for letting taehyung wash dishes for the last hour of his shift, he'll be as content as possible.

 _as content as i can be, when i'm afraid i'll come home to a dead sister. ...like i did to them._  

he bumps into yerim just around the corner, out of sight of the customers, and he's breathing too fast, on the verge of a panic attack. "yeri," he says, unsure what he's even asking for, but she seems to get it, dragging him by his apron over to the alcove where the sinks are.

"breathe, tae," she says, smoothing his hair out, and he's fucking _crying_ and he doesn't even know _why_. "deep breaths. with me."

he knows she has experience with panic attacks, on how to avoid them, and it's so, _so_ hard to take deep, even breaths along with her, but forty seconds later he isn't lightheaded anymore, and he's blinked most of the tears from his eyes. he takes a shaky breath. "yeri."

"i'd ask if you're okay, but obviously you're not," she murmurs with a frown. "you should go home."

"boss won't let me leave, and i need this job," taehyung says, voice filled with so much despair he feels like he should get some kind of award. "i need this job, yeri, but i need to go home. like right now."

"still whining about going home?" his boss says from behind him. he jumps, turning to find the man frowning, hands on his hips. "you only have an hour left. what's so important, huh? someone die?" the man mocks.

"maybe," taehyung chokes, all of yeri's help in stifling his panic attack going out the window. "i'm scared my dad killed my sister."

he didn't mean to say that much, and he can tell no one else expected it either. it's dead silent as the words fall, the only noise the cars on the speakers and the fries bubbling in oil. his boss can't seem to close his mouth and he won't stop staring at taehyung.

after a solid minute yeri pushes him a little towards the break room in the back. "go," she says softly, squeezing his arm before directing her attention to their boss. "i'll cover his parts."

taehyung wants to kiss her. _maybe tomorrow, if everything doesn't go to hell tonight._

 

he's changed out of his stuffy uniform in record time, nearly flying through the streets as he takes every shortcut he knows to get home as fast as possible. it's hot in his hoodie with the sun still up, but he doesn't care, not when he can't get a hold of taeyoung.

 _i'm sorry, the number you're trying to call is temporarily out of service._  

he wants to scream, and he does, at a car that narrowly misses him as he darts through traffic. he knows it's stupid, but he can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but run and hope it's not as bad as he fears.

he slows as soon as he's up the stairs, trying to quiet his breathing as he nears their door, listening. it's cracked open slightly, and taehyung prays to every deity he knows that taeyoung got out, maybe went to taeyeon's. it'd be the safest place for her, until their dad threw a fit over his punching bag being gone.

he pushes the door open just a bit more, eyes taking in the scene before him. taeyoung, hair flying around her face as she stumbles back from a hit. their father, fist raised to hit her again, and taehyung's _done_. their mother might be dead, taeguk might be dead, but it will be over taehyung's own dead body that his father will hit taeyoung again.

he makes no sound as he enters, hand wrapping around an empty beer bottle sitting on the table near the door. he gets a decent grip on it, stepping in the way as their father brings his hand down to hit taeyoung again. taehyung's a new threat though, at a different angle, and his father pauses long enough for taehyung to bring his arm back and give it everything he's got.

the glass breaks over his father's head, raining green shards onto the wood flooring, dazing the older man. taehyung can feel the impact all up his arm, and it hurts, but not enough to stop him. nothing can stop him now.

there's a horrible squish, a sound he doesn't register, ears ringing with his own heartbeat, as he brings the broken end up to his father's middle. again. and again, and again again again again again. there's red staining his shirt, red staining taehyung's face, his hands, the floor, and his father isn't fighting back but he brings his hand back and forward again, again—

"oppa!" taeyoung screams, gripping his jacket and wrenching him back with enough force that he nearly stumbles, gasping in a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. it comes out in something like a sob, his eyes locked on his father's body, slumped against the windowsill.

his white shirt is almost entirely red, shredded the through the stomach and chest, and taehyung feels sick. the sound of the bloody bottle hitting the wooden floor is loud in his ears. his hands feel numb.

 _what has he done?_  

"oppa," taeyoung says, voice softer this time, afraid. taehyung wonders if she's scared at the situation, or afraid of _him_. he's certainly afraid of himself.

 _i...killed him. i killed him. what have i done? i killed him. i killed him i killed him i killedhimikilledhimikilled—_  

he tries to speak, but it's a garbled mess of sounds that doesn't resemble anything close to words, and he's shaking so hard he's afraid he'll collapse on the spot. his breathing is too fast, his vision blurry, and he can't for the life of him remember how yerim said to avoid panic attacks. surely it couldn't have been to pass out, right? that seemed counterproductive.

"oppa." taeyoung's voice is so far away taehyung barely registers the word, stumbling backwards, out of the room until he's collapsed into a hyperventilating mess outside the door. the sun is still shining, but he feels so, so cold. it's so bright outside he can't see inside anymore, but he can't pull his eyes from the windowsill, what he knows lies beneath.

"i-i'm s-s-or-ry," he gasps out, voice breathless because he can't pull in enough air, can't do anything because _what has he done?_ the anger he's been harboring all day long has dissipated, and he can't feel anything but horror.

 _i could kill something_ was supposed to be metaphorical. he hadn't planned on _murdering his father._  

taeyoung says something he can't catch, ears ringing as they are, but she presses a water bottle into his hands a minute later. he grips it like his life depends on it, crinkling the plastic in his hands. hands that he doesn't want connected to him anymore, hands that are still covered in sticky, drying blood, and taehyung's stomach heaves. nothing comes up though, because he hasn't eaten yet today, and he can't summon any of the anger of before. there's no relief that the threat is gone, no pleasure in taking out his greatest tormentor.

 _he was my dad and i—i killed him. i'm no better than him now. he killed taeguk and mom, and i killed him._  

it takes everything he has to choke down the tears, shaky fingers opening the bottle. he was probably supposed to drink it, but taeyoung isn't around anymore to tell him if that was her intent. he feels like he should be more worried about where she went, but the drying blood is making his hands stiff, and that's far more pressing, he thinks.

the water doesn't help a lot, doesn't wash off much of it, but he still tries, rubbing his hands together, on his jacket, the back of his hand against his face where the blood is drying in itchy splotches. he can feel his bangs stiffening as the blood in them dries, and he can't stay here. he needs a shower, at the least, and he can't do it here.

namjoon is on speed dial, but even so, it takes taehyung seven tries to dial the right number, to hold it down long enough for it to call. he can't hear the ringing on the other end, head spinning because he's close to passing out again, but he thinks he hears some kind of distant answer, and he's mumbling then, voice low and shaky and barely forming words right.

"hyung, i miss you. i want to see you. please. i. hyung," he says, rambling, a variation of the same words stumbling over themselves until he can't say anything at all.

"taehyung, are you okay?" he hears, namjoon's voice worried, upset. taehyung feels like he should have called taeyeon, maybe, but family is the last thing he wants to see right now, and namjoon will help, he's sure.

"h-hyung," he says again, unable to think enough to form words more than that. "hyung."

_i need you. i need help. i did something bad and i can't take it back and i don't know how to fix it and i need help hyung please._

"h-hyu-hyung."

"taehyung, where are you? what happened?"

"hyung i—" 

"are you home?"

"i need h-help, hyung."

"stay where you are, okay?"

"p-please. i'm s-sor-sorry."

"you're not making sense, taehyung."

"i didn't mean t-to."

"we'll talk when i get there, okay? give me ten minutes?"

"d-don't hang up!"

"okay, i'm not hanging up. i'm here. i'm here."

"o-ok-okay."

"breathe taehyung, i'm here."

 

he doesn't remember passing out, but realizes he must have when the next thing he remembers is coming to on the hard concrete walkway, namjoon's worried face above his. his phone is lying face down several centimeters away, water bottle emptied out on its side next to him. his face hurts; he must have slipped to the side after he lost consciousness.

"taehyung. taehyung, look at me," namjoon says, pulling him up into a sitting position.

it's hard to meet his eyes, so sincere and concerned. taehyung's vision is still blurry, but with tears this time, rather than an impending panic attack. "h-hyung."

"taehyung, what happened?" namjoon asks, voice slow. taehyung almost feels insulted, because he isn't stupid, but it's so hard to even think that slow is probably good.

"i—" he can't even say it. _i killed my dad_ isn't something he ever wants to have to say out loud.

"okay," namjoon says, crouching in front of taehyung and touching fingers to his face to catch his eyes. taehyung stares at his eyebrows instead, unable to make eye contact for fear he'll break and never get put together again. "are you hurt?"

 _yes_ , he wants to say. there's something fundamental inside him that's broken beyond repair, but he doesn't know what it is, or how to say it, so he gives namjoon the answer he knows he's looking for. _are you hurt physically?_ "n-no."

"is your sister hurt?" namjoon asks, voice soft.

"y-yes," taehyung says, taking in namjoon's widening eyes, the expression of horror crossing his face, and he backtracks. "n-not bad though. not her."

he hates that he's such a mess he can't even speak right.

namjoon's eyebrows furrow, lips twisting into a frown. "then whose blood is it?" he asks.

taehyung's stomach heaves, and he very nearly throws up bile all over namjoon's ratty shoes. "i—" he's breathing too fast again.

namjoon runs fingers through his hair, face scrunching up in disgust when he hits the sticky strands, but he doesn't stop. it helps. it's calming. namjoon was a good choice. "is it yours?" namjoon asks, point blank.

"n-no."

"is it taeyoung's?"

"n-n-no."

"...is it your dad's?" namjoon finally asks, voice hesitant, like he knows the answer and doesn't want to hear it.

taehyung doesn't want to say it, but he feels like the loud sob that falls from his lips is answer enough. "i-i didn't m-mean t-t-to."

"i know," namjoon says, although he couldn't possibly know. taehyung's chest hurts, tears clouding his vision until namjoon is just a mess of tan and purple and black. _he couldn't possibly know_.

taehyung doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to speak even if he wanted to, and he barely registers namjoon standing, locking the door to the apartment before closing it and extending hands to taehyung. "come on," he says, something in his voice that taehyung has no word for, but it makes him feel better. "let's go."

"h-hyung," he chokes out, shaky hands taking the ones offered to him as namjoon helps pull him to his feet. he can't say more than that right now, and just hopes his thanks and appreciation and gratitude are all encompassed in the single, broken word.

namjoon knows that taehyung's just committed murder—however justified—and he's holding hands out to help him back onto his feet, in more ways than one.

taehyung's crying again, for a different reason this time.

calling namjoon was a good choice, and the only thing in his life he'll never regret.

 

the walk to namjoon's shitty trailer by the tracks takes fifteen to twenty minutes usually, ten or less if you run fast enough, but with the way that taehyung's legs are so shaky, with the way he's still falling apart, it takes them a good forty minutes to make it there.

namjoon is patient the entire time, and taehyung would kiss him, too, if the situation wasn't what it was.

he speaks softly as they walk, soothing things—snippets of 'wisdom' he's gained from books, english thrown in here and there. taehyung focuses on that, on picking out the words that he knows, and trying to piece together what namjoon's saying without help from the older. it distracts taehyung from the way his skin pulls when his fingers move by his side, the way his bangs scrape sharp over his eyebrows with dried blood. it's probably namjoon's intention, and taehyung's heart is so full of affection for the older boy that it pushes the guilt from it entirely.

for now, at least.

"it's unlocked," namjoon murmurs as they come up to the trailer, and his hands are gentle when they press against taehyung's back to urge him up the stairs. "you know where the shower is, so i'll meet you there with some towels and your stuff."

taehyung had completely forgotten he'd left a change of clothes at namjoon's, and he's so relieved he wants to cry again, but he waits until he's in the shower, bloody clothes stuffed into namjoon's tiny laundry hamper before he lets them fall again. at least in here, he can pretend it's the water.

_boys don't cry! stop crying! even your sister is more man than you!_

"just gonna leave these here," namjoon says, words garbled because of the loudness of the water, but he hears anyway.

"thanks," he says back through the shower curtain, waiting until he hears the door slam shut again before he picks up the shampoo bottle. it's some fancy old spice thing that smells like cinnamon and trees. taehyung thinks he'd take just about anything right now that didn't smell like sweat and _blood_.

he misses his hand the first time entirely when he tries to squirt some into his palm, and only feels vaguely guilty for wasting namjoon's shampoo. the second time he gets it in his hand, and he steps out of the spray enough to lather it in his hair. he pulls harder than he needs to, fingers getting caught and twisted in the caked together strands. he's shaking again, hair getting caught in a cut he hadn't realized he'd had on his palm. he screams in pain, frustration, hurt, confusion, guilt, everything, _nothing_ , dropping to his knees on the hard porcelain.

the warm water spills over the back of his head, and he can feel the itchy lather slide down his shoulders, his arms, dripping into his eyes, but he doesn't care anymore, doesn't know if the sting is shampoo, or his own tears, can't tell the water from them anymore anyway.

he sits like that, staring at the water swirling down the drain until the spray is lukewarm at best, and he finally stands, running hands through his hair again. his fingers don't get caught this time, the strands pulling away from each other normally, and taehyung heaves a relieved breath he didn't know he was holding. now that he notices, the water runs down the drain clear, and that helps, too.

if he's not covered in his father's blood, it's easier to pretend he just left him passed out drunk at home, and not _dead_. 

he grabs the body wash next—also cinnamon and tree scented—hands still shaking as he tries to work up a lather between his palms. he means to do a quick rundown of everything and get out because the water's turning cold, but he finds himself grabbing a washcloth from the shower rack and scrubbing. hard.

his face and neck and hands and arms sting when he finally steps out of the shower, but at least he's clean. on the outside anyway.

he doesn't think he'll ever be clean on the inside again.

namjoon's bathroom mirror takes up half the space, and on normal days, it's perfectly fine, even helpful. but the last thing taehyung wants to do now is look in the mirror, and it's incredibly difficult to avoid any glances at all while he dresses. the long sleeved shirt is warm enough, but he still layers on a t-shirt and his hoodie after that, jeans and socks.

he knows he's hiding, and he just hopes namjoon doesn't say anything.

"hey," namjoon says as he steps into the small living room, flopping onto the couch next to the older.

"hey," taehyung says back, voice quiet.

"anything you feel like watching right now?" namjoon asks, brandishing the remote taehyung's way.

there's some kind of trashy sitcom on tv now, and taehyung shrugs, not sure he can really focus on anything at the moment.

"taeyoung called," namjoon hedges, voice unsure as he hands taehyung his phone.

"is she okay?" taehyung asks, heaving a relieved sigh. he'd completely forgotten to grab his phone when they left, and he's thankful that namjoon remembered. "did she say where she is?"

"yeah, she's with tae—taehyung!" namjoon says, voice rising ridiculously in pitch, eyes wide.

taehyung jumps, dropping his phone to the cushions between them. "what!" his heart is in his throat, beating way too fast, and he fights to keep his breathing steady. there's no reason to panic right now, there's no reason to panic right now—

"your hand!" namjoon says, like that explains anything.

taehyung glances down, hand extended toward namjoon. he doesn't notice anything at first, but then the cut he found on his palm in the shower comes to mind, and he flips his hand over better. the cut is ugly, swollen, and now that taehyung notices it, it hurts, a deep throbbing that pulses halfway up his arm. it's trying to bleed again, and it must have been the cold water toward the end of his shower that'd stopped it.

taehyung swallows, flexing his hand and wincing. "what about it?"

"i think it needs stitches," namjoon says, frowning and reaching out to lightly turn taehyung's hand in his own. okay, that actually _really_ hurts.

"it's fine," taehyung insists, pulling his hand back and up into his sleeve. if he ignores it, he can ignore why he has it in the first place. they can find some dumb movie and make popcorn and fall asleep on each other all over the couch like usual, and he's _fine_. 

"it already looks infected," namjoon mumbles, standing and frowning. he's got his 'hyung' face on, and taehyung lied. calling namjoon was a horrible idea.

"i don't need stitches." stitches meant doctors and doctors meant public, and he knows that no one saw, that he could write it off as self defense, that he might be okay, but still. he doesn't want to go out into public after what just happened. _happy_ kids with their _happy_ dads is not what taehyung wants to see right now. "we'll pour some peroxide on it, and wrap a napkin around it. i'm _fine_ , hyung."

namjoon's eyes narrow. "if taeyoung was hurt like that, what would you do?"

 _make her get stitches and see a doctor_ is on the tip of his tongue. namjoon grins, like he's won, and he has. taehyung glares at him.

"i'm just worried about you," namjoon insists, grabbing taehyung's arm and hauling him up and off the couch. "after that, you can stay for as long as you want, i promise. i won't make you go anywhere."

"you're lying," taehyung hisses, but he can't get the right amount of venom in his voice. it's been so long since anyone's really taken care of _him_ , rather than the other way around, and he doesn't know what to do with the emotions trying to choke him up. he fucking _hates_ crying.

"you're right," namjoon laughs, guiding taehyung over to his shoes by the door. "i'll probably make you get some sun and see some people. we miss you, you know. you've been so busy you haven't come to any of the get-togethers."

"hyung—" taehyung begins to protest, slipping his feet into his shoes. it's not that he doesn't want to see everyone, because he _does_ , he misses them. but he also doesn't want to see them right n _ow_.

"taehyung," namjoon says, voice leaving no room for argument, and taehyung whirls around on instinct, meeting his eyes. the older's eyes are hard, yet gentle, and he sweeps taehyung into an unexpected hug. he squeezes too tightly, and taehyung can only hug back with one arm, but it's the best thing he's ever felt in his entire life. "you asked me for help. let me help you, okay?"

it takes taehyung a minute to answer, voice muffled against namjoon's shoulder as he fights back tears. "...okay."

 

yeah, taehyung decides, hospital ers are definitely his least favorite thing ever. there's one older woman who looks like she could die at any second ahead of him, along with a boy who can't stop coughing, and of course, a dad and his baby. taehyung isn't sure what's wrong with it, because he's intensely focused on holding the paper towels in his bad hand to keep from bleeding all over everything—yeah that started up again—gaze never leaving the evening news running quietly on the tv in the corner.

stock market crashes, stolen cars, presidential debates in america, local school charity events, the usual.

there's nothing about a one kim taehyung sr. being stabbed to death in his own home by his own broken beer bottle by his own broken son.

at least, not yet.

but taehyung's eyes are glued to the screen anyway.

"hey," namjoon says after a while, nudging him. "they just called you in."

taehyung startles in his seat, the motion jerking his whole arm and he hisses out a breath to keep quiet. "what?"

"they just called you in," namjoon repeats, pointing toward the nurse in the doorway. "do you want me to come with you?"

taehyung wants to scoff, tell him that he's not a kid anymore, but he doesn't. he's grateful, and he uses his good hand to grab namjoon's sleeve. "yes."

the nurse is too bright, too perky for taehyung at ten pm. he's got floppy blond hair, a dangling earring on the left side that probably violates some kind of dress code rule, and a name tag that reads 'minhyuk'.

"kim taehyung-ssi?" he asks. he literally sounds so bubbly taehyung imagines champagne spouting from his mouth every time he speaks. it's disconcerting, and shit, taehyung's more tired than he realized.

"me," taehyung says needlessly. he's the one holding a bloody wad of napkins, after all.

minhyuk's eyes dart down to his hand before coming up and meeting taehyung's gaze worriedly. "take a seat, please," he says, sitting on his own stool and motioning for taehyung to sit on the exam bed covered in loud, crackly paper. it takes taehyung way too long to get settled, and it's way too loud, namjoon snorting a laugh into his elbow in the corner. taehyung wants to glare, but finds himself smiling just a bit instead.  "can you tell me what happened?" minhyuk says, starting all the general tests—blood pressure, temperature, etcetera.

taehyung freezes, wracking his brain for something that's not incriminating, but namjoon swoops in to save taehyung's ass. "we were cleaning the trash around my neighborhood, and he accidentally cut himself on a broken beer bottle. we didn't think it was that big a deal, but it won't stop bleeding, and it might be infected. so we came here."

minhyuk's eyes are comically wide before he nods. "i see," he says, setting his clipboard to the side and holding his hands out for taehyung's. he gives it up reluctantly, frowning at the cold gloves against his too-hot skin. namjoon's probably right. it's definitely infected.

minhyuk says as much after, confirming the need for stitches, and taehyung feels sick. it's not that he dislikes needles, he just doesn't want to deal with them _now_. needles mean piercing of the skin, and blood, and it's far too reminiscent of earlier today for taehyung to deal with right now. he's shaking again.

"are you afraid of needles?" minhyuk asks, redirecting his question to namjoon when taehyung doesn't respond, eyes focused on his shoes for lack of anything else to stare at. the smell of all the antiseptics make him want to vomit. it's all too _clean_ , and taehyung isn't clean anymore.

"yes," namjoon answers for him, after a second of hesitation. "he doesn't like them. i don't suppose there's a way you could knock him out for the procedure?" he asks. taehyung feels a brief spark of hope. if he's unconscious for the whole thing, his mind can't run wild with memories he's trying so hard to forget.

"sorry, no," minhyuk apologizes, voice sugar sweet as it crushes taehyung's hope like the ladybug stitched into the corner of minhyuk's pink scrubs. well, like the ladybug under a shoe, is where his mind meant to go, but he's exhausted.

"do you have a sleep mask?" taehyung asks. maybe if he's lucky, he'll pass out all on his own.

minhyuk brightens like a light bulb turning on, and taehyung _hates_ it. usually _he's_ the light bulb, the bubbly ray of sunshine, and he hates that he's not right now. that he's the dark, brooding teenager that hates everything. it makes his skin crawl, like minhyuk's bubbly champagne voice is flooding his insides. "i think we do! i'll be right back," he says, standing and making his way out of the little alcove.

"taehyung," namjoon says as soon as minhyuk is gone, "i know you don't want to do this, but you need it. you could get really sick. and you don't know—" he starts, cutting off and seemingly changing his mind. "you don't know what it's infected with."

 _you don't know what kind of diseases your dad_ had is implied, but falls heavily between them. taehyung scowls. wouldn't it just be the best, if his dad had aids or something, and wound up killing taehyung anyway?

 _it's not like i don't deserve it_ , he thinks bitterly.

"i know," is what he says instead, frowning. he knows it's necessary, but the emotions swirling inside him are making him feel sicker by the second, and he'd give just about anything to just pass out again.

"i'm sorry," namjoon mumbles, his hand warm and comforting on taehyung's shoulder. it helps, if only infinitesimally.

"you don't need to be sorry," taehyung tells him, swallowing back hysteria. namjoon has nothing to be sorry for, but taehyung...taehyung has _everything_ to be sorry for.

namjoon opens his mouth to say something, but minhyuk is coming back then, sporting an apologetic frown. taehyung's pretty sure he's going to throw up.

"sorry," the nurse says, twisting his lips and pulling things from a drawer on the other side of the room. there's ominous metal clinks as minhyuk puts things on the tray, and taehyung's sweating. "they didn't have one. but you can close your eyes, i know that helps."

except it doesn't, because the image of his father slumped against the windowsill, framed by the late afternoon light like some kind of skewed halo is burned into the back of taehyung's lids. he's breathing too fast again, and he wishes he could just turn his brain off. that'd help a lot of things.

there's the snap of a glove being fitted into place, minhyuk coming back over to take a seat in front of taehyung. his smile is blurry, and taehyung feels lightheaded. namjoon's voice is very far away when he speaks.

"isn't the doctor coming in to see him first? shouldn't the doctor do the procedure?"

"we're pretty busy right now," minhyuk apologizes, and taehyung doesn't know if he's not smiling anymore or if taehyung's fuzzy mind is just no longer registering it. maybe the latter, because he can't focus on anything else after that. not minhyuk's words, or namjoon's voice, and he doesn't even feel the needle administering the anesthesia. namjoon's arms are warm where they're suddenly wrapped around his waist, offering what little comfort he can. taehyung's so far gone he barely feels it, the affection and gratitude so far away it's like trying to make them out from behind dirty, frosted glass.

 _dirty, murky beer bottles, that i—_  

it's only when he feels the bigger needle in his hand—not hurting, no, but there's a pressure that he can't ignore—the thread dragging through his skin to stitch the wound closed that his stomach heaves again, and he's unable to stop it. it comes up all over his shirt, his pants, his shoes, namjoon's jacket, minhyuk's scrubs, the floor.

he was pretty sure this night couldn't get any worse, but what was that one saying?

_anything that can go wrong, will._

and when taehyung slumps forward, losing consciousness fast, namjoon and the nurse unprepared to catch him, the cold floor against his temple just feels like a confirmation of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi thanks for reading, hope you liked it if you made it this far o/


	3. yerim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what _else_ could go wrong today?
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> it's the wrong question to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm. heavily implied past rape im sorry

it's another boring day, really. pretentious soccer moms blaming her for orders gone wrong, too many complaints about the ice cream machine being down, and the only thing that's making this day worth anything is talking with taehyung. he's bright, he's _beautiful_ , and when he tells her all about a lady trying to sneak an actual duckling into the restaurant in her purse, yerim is pretty sure he's her best friend.

and that maybe she would be totally okay with more.

"okay, but that lady with the mohawk was the chillest person ever," yerim starts, taehyung's eyes already crinkling into a smile, despite the bruises littering his skin. "like she—"

"just a second," taehyung cuts her off, the distant sound of a phone vibrating filling the silence. he smiles apologetically as he digs it out of his pocket, eyes flashing to the screen. the playful light in his eyes dies, the upward turn of his mouth gone, and he swallows, face going pale. "yeah, just a second," he confirms, moving toward the back and out of the flow of workers. it's not too busy today, but enough that there's almost ten people in the back.

"don't just stand there," her boss snaps, glaring at her and motioning around himself with a pointed finger. "you're at work, are you not? why don't you try working, rather than gossiping, hm?"

"yes, manager-ssi," she bites out, turning on the spot and proceeding to dump an entire bag of fries into one of the baskets, in spite of the fact that they already have several full. she drops it in the oil, meeting her boss's glare head on before he sighs, turning toward the back, where taehyung had gone with his phone.

there's worry gnawing at her insides, and she wants to rush over there, tell their boss to leave, but can't bring herself to because taehyung had obviously wanted privacy. maybe their boss was just going to grab something from the walk-in, maybe he hadn't caught taehyung on his phone and was proceeding to head to the back to reprimand him.

_right_ , yerim snorts at herself.

she moves over toward the sinks, intending to do a few dishes to kill time so her boss doesn't yell at her again, and totally _not_ closer to see what taehyung's muttering into the phone. really she wasn't, but she hears his voice anyway, raised too loud, pitched high in what she suspects might be panic. it makes her stomach curl.

"just stay safe okay? i'll be there as soon as i can—"

she knows that his home life isn't the best, that he's got a little sister he tries to provide for, and she tries not to let her imagination run wild with what might be wrong, biting her lip instead, gaze trained on a spatula sticking up out of the soapy water.

"...taeyoung? taeyoung!"

her head darts up at that, taehyung's voice a frantic yell, and yerim can feel her own panic creeping in. what's wrong? she wants to ask, but thinks better of it when she hears their boss's voice start up on the other side of the partition. so he went after taehyung after all.

"kim-ssi," the man starts, and yerim knows it's bad then. he only uses surnames when someone's in trouble. "i'm going to have to ask you to put your phone away before i take it away. you're at work, and it's not your break." he sounds like he's speaking to a child, and yerim squeezes the sponge in her grip, imagining her boss's eyes popping out as if she'd squeezed him instead.

"i really have to go manager-ssi, please," taehyung begs, his voice nearly breaking yerim's heart. it dredges up memories she doesn't want to think about, and she swallows them down, listening intently to his conversation instead.

_let me go! please! i really have to go home, please! please!!_

"whatever it is can wait until your shift is over." he sounds so cold yerim shivers.

"but—"

"get back to work."

"sir, i—"

"if you walk out that door, you're fired. do you hear me?" the man asks, voice leaving no room for argument, and yerim is so angry on taehyung's behalf she almost misses his response, tiny and broken and soft and so unlike him she wants to cry.

"...yes, sir."

before she can ask if he's okay, or what happened at all, taehyung is brushing past the sinks, shouldering people out of the way as someone shouts, "front cash!"

she stands there in a daze almost, washing the same pan over and over again to look busy as she waits for taehyung to come to the back again. she's worried to the point that she feels sick, cold, and too many minutes later she goes to check, afraid he's walked out anyway. she wouldn't blame him at all, really she wouldn't.

she bumps into him just before she rounds the corner, the echo of his parting, "have a not awful day," still ringing in the air, and she gasps. there's sweat starting up on the sides of his face, his dark eyes wide, and despite the lack of physical activity, he's wheezing like he can't breathe. she knows what it is immediately, even as he chokes out a small, desperate, "yeri."

she grabs his apron, careful not to drag him too hard, pulling him back over toward the sinks. it's the most private place in the back, and with their boss yelling at someone else for once, it's the best they've got. "breathe, tae," she says, frowning and running fingers through his messy hair. it always helped when joohyun did it for her. "deep breaths. with me." he's _crying_ , and she wishes she could make it stop.

she takes a deep breath for reference, pacing her breathing as taehyung struggles to match it. it feels like forever before his breaths even out, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace, rather than erratically like before, and it's a relief when he blinks the last of his tears from his eyes, voice quiet but stable when he whispers, "yeri."

"I'd ask if you're okay, but obviously you're not," she says, lips pulling into a frown and it's ridiculous, how much she wants to hug him.

"boss won't let me leave, and i need this job," he tells her, voice so broken yerim's afraid she'll cry on his behalf if she's not careful. "i need this job, yeri, but i need to go home. like now."

she knows it must be something with his sister, and it makes her sick to her stomach to think of the possibilities. and then she feels even worse, _guilty_ , because how much worse is it for taehyung? it's _his_ sister, after all.

"still whining about going home?" their boss says, hands on his hips. yerim wants to tell him he looks like a miffed mom rather than an intimidating boss, but figures now's not the time. "you only have an hour left. what's so important, huh? someone die?" the mocking tone in his voice has yeri clenching her hands into fists to stop from hitting him.

taehyung looks devastated, breathing spiking again, expression so hurt and scared and vulnerable that yerim's heart hurts for him. "maybe," he says, voice so choked it's difficult to understand the word. "i'm scared my dad killed my sister."

yerim goes cold, still, breath caught in her throat. she had no idea it was that bad at home, couldn't have even guessed, despite the bruises taehyung wears nearly every day. clearly their boss didn't suspect either, because the man goes quiet, expression astonished, lost.

it's quiet for so long that yerim gets a grip on herself, swallowing and pressing gentle hands into taehyung's shoulder blades. he's shaking so badly she's impressed he's still standing. "go," she says, giving his arm the most reassuring squeeze she can as she urges him towards the back. he steps away, and she shoots the most potent glare she can manage at their boss. "i'll cover his parts."

the man doesn't argue, instead throwing his hands up as if the whole situation is a fiasco, rather than one employee going home a little early. it leaves her almost fuming, standing still and glaring at anyone that has the nerve to whisper about taehyung behind his back, those that stare at him as he darts out the back door.

"hello?" a voice calls from the front, and yerim shakes herself. she'd almost forgotten entirely that she was at work, and that customers were a thing that happened to be part of that.

she moves around the corner, eyes easily finding the man calling for attention. he's tall, for one, with bright red hair, but that isn't what brings her to a stop, or brings a smile to her lips. it's _chanyeol_ , and his voice is soothing, familiar, safe. "yeri."

she tries not to think about how she met him, or why they know each other, instead focusing on the fact that he's here _now_ , when she's doing a lot better for herself. he grins, and she can't help smiling back. "hi, oppa," she says, hating that she's at work, because she has so much to tell him. all about how she's _okay_ now, she's in school again, how proud he'd be of the fact that she got this job all by herself. "fancy seeing you here," is what she says instead. maybe now that he knows she's here, he'll come see her more.

"yeah," he says after a beat, face soft, and she kind of wants to jump over the counter for a hug. "it's good to see you."

"it's good to see you, too," she says sincerely, leaning closer and trying not to frown. he looks exhausted, eyes red-rimmed, skin blotchy—like he's been crying. it makes her heart sink, but she tries to hide it with another smile. why are all of her boys so sad? "something i can help you with?" she asks instead, laughter on the edge of her voice, as she exaggerates the friendliness in her tone, making a mockery of her usual statement toward customers. she's pretty sure chanyeol won't mind.

"i was actually here to ask about the cashier that took my order," he says, smile fading, and yerim's sinking feeling only increases. "taehyung, i think was his name?"

the last thing she wants is someone she respects to say awful things about taehyung, and she can feel her face closing off, her smile wiped clear of her expression. "his shift ended," she snaps.

she must sound more hostile than she realizes, because chanyeol's eyes are wide, hands in the air like she's a cop pointing a gun at him. he flicks his wrist a little, and she can see a wallet in his hand. is it taehyung's, and he's returning it? she doesn't think so, considering he reaches in and pulls out a couple bills.

"i just wanted to give him something," he says slowly, frowning, and yerim feels guilty for snapping. "would that be okay?"

she straightens a little, frown gone and replaced with a confused expression. "you want to give him a tip?" she asks, incredulous. taehyung was in the furthest thing from a good mood when he took the orders earlier—she's sure he wasn't exhibiting his usual outstanding customer service.

"yeah," chanyeol says, breathing deep before he's hitting her with his dimpled smile again. "and now that i know you're here, too, well." he shuffles the two bills between his fingers for a second before extending his hand and giving them to her. she takes them on reflex, still too stunned to say much. "can you give him his when he comes in again?" he asks.

she grins again then, eyes flicking down to the bills and then up at chanyeol, fighting back tears. a hundred dollars. _each_. "of course. he'll appreciate it. and i appreciate it. thanks, oppa," she says, knowing that _thanks_ is the understatement of the century for a tip of _a hundred dollars_ , but she doesn't know what else to say.

_thanks for taking care of me still, even though you don't have to_ feels a bit too emotional for a sunday afternoon in a dumpy fast food restaurant.

"you're welcome," chanyeol tells her, voice warm and wonderful, and it takes everything in her not to burst into grateful tears. he makes a move to leave, and she almost panics. with taehyung gone, there's nothing to make her day better except chanyeol, who she'd honestly thought she'd never see again. "i guess i'll let you get back to work. i shouldn't leave jisung alone for too long."

she doesn't know who jisung is, and decides to ask at some later time, because he's right. she does need to get back to work, before her boss comes out and yells at her in front of everyone in the lobby. she can't help but feel chanyeol wouldn't take well to her boss's attitude at all. "wait," she says anyway, ducking behind the counter and grabbing the first little toy from the box she can get her hand on. it's not much, but it's all she has right now, and she can't let him walk away empty-handed—not after what he just did for her. "i'll see you around oppa. be safe," she says with a wink, tossing him the toy.

he catches it, glancing down into his hand with a tiny smile that just grows, eyes squinting closed with the force of it. "you too," he says, something like a promise in his voice, and it makes yerim feel better. "take care."

"i will," she tells him, waving a little as he turns to head outside. she watches until he's gone before she turns to the back again, stomach curling at the thought of spending the next four hours here.

it goes by slowly, the time dragging. the other workers pass the time talking about taehyung, about how "spastic and weird he is usually," how "i bet he made that up you know. a lot of problem kids lie to make everything more dramatic."

yerim seethes, throwing dishes into the rinse sink with a lot more force than necessary. to her knowledge, taehyung is the exact opposite of a problem child. she's only ever known him to be funny and open and sincere and caring, going so far as to take on two jobs to help support his little sister. all of that, despite the fact that his father was less than ideal—absolutely nothing that warrants the comments at all.

"you know," one of the boys says as he comes over to get a new spatula after he'd dropped his. "i bet he's making most of it up. and just wants attention, you know, like most kids do," he starts, apparently not realizing that taehyung is in fact, older than him. "bet there's nothing wrong at home, and he gets those bruises in street fights for drugs or something. you've heard him talk right? he sounds like he's on crack or something. i mean—"

but yerim doesn't see what he means, cutting him off with a spatula to the face. the resounding _crack!_ is immediate, as are the boy's squeals, his hands flying to his bloody nose. "what the fuck!" he shouts, stamping his foot.

"it's not nice to talk bad about people behind their back when you don't know them," she says, voice prim, like joohyun's is when she gives yerim some sort of 'profound,' life-changing advice. it's thrown off a little by the fact that her hand is sprinkled with red, and she's holding a bloody spatula, but still.

"you're just as fucking crazy as he is," the boy spits, red spittle staining her cheek, but she holds her ground. "like. fucking _fuck_."

"and what's going on here?" their boss snaps, sighing heavily as he rounds the corner. "i swear if it's—" he stops short, eyes narrowing, taking in yerim and her spatula, and the boy she's clearly hit with it. "kim yerim."

"cha donghyun," she says back, casually dropping the spatula on the floor at her feet, mocking her boss even though she's pretty sure it'll cost her her job. better that she stand up for taehyung, she thinks, even if joohyun might not see it as such.

"did you hit daemin?" he asks, straightforward, needless. it's clear she did.

she wipes her hand off on her apron, the black fabric hiding the red she rubs into it. "maybe."

"why." it's not a question. his eyes harden, and if it was legal, she suspects he'd bend her over his knee and spank her like an unruly child.

_because he said mean things about my_ _friend_ sounds childish enough that she doesn't want to say, and instead settles for, "because i wanted to." it's not any better, but it's out and there's no taking it back.

donghyun pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger, taking several deep breaths and counting to ten under his breath. she didn't realize he'd closed his eyes until he opens them again, fighting a smirk. "suspended for three days, without pay," he says.

yerim breathes a sigh of relief. that was a much lighter punishment than she'd expected.

"what the fuck!" daemin shouts again, stomping like an angry child. "she broke my nose! she should be fired! she _hit_ me!"

"yes, and we all want to hit you, so really, she did us a favor," their boss sighs, shaking his head. "now go fill out an incident report and call your mom to come get you. and you," he continues, pointing at yerim. "get out of here. i don't want to see you back until thursday."

yerim gives him a salute, shooting a nasty sneer at daemin, and then promptly grabs her purse and change of clothes from the back, making her way out front. there's a nice park just down the street that she can probably wait at until joohyun can come pick her up.

she shudders, unsure what she'll tell the older girl.

_so my friend thought his dad killed his sister and flipped out, and everyone said mean things later, so i hit the most annoying one in the face with a spatula and broke his nose and now i'm suspended for three days, can you come grab me, eonni?_  

"yeah," yerim sighs, laughing to herself as she steps out into the late afternoon sunlight. "that's totally how to phrase what went down today."

the park is half a block down the street, and she steps into the women's restroom for a minute as soon as she arrives, changing her clothes and washing her hands and face. she isn't sure how much of daemin's blood is still on her, but better safe than sorry. she's the only one in the bathroom, the only sounds she can hear being traffic outside, and a leaky flush in one of the stalls. it's disconcerting, brings back memories of a time not too long ago, and before she knows it, she's back out in the sunlight, standing near the bus stop.

it's technically not any safer really, but at least her screams will carry if something goes wrong again. her lips twist into a frown; she knows she shouldn't think like that anymore, but she can't help it. she's a statistic, she's that one in three that get—

she shakes her head, pulling her phone from her purse before her thoughts can get too dark, dialing joohyun. the phone rings four times before she picks up. "yeri?"

"eonni," she starts, unsure where to go from there. there's an awkward pause that joohyun lets her have, as gracious as she is. "eonni i need you to pick me up, please."

"i thought you weren't off until six?" joohyun asks. she doesn't sound mad, merely curious. yerim wonders how long that will last.

"i got sent home early," she says, hoping joohyun just thinks it's high labor, and not that yerim did something to warrant getting sent home. she doesn't want to lie if she doesn't have to.

"bad day?" is what joohyun asks instead, and it's not bad in the way she means, but yes, it's a bad day.

"yeah," yerim confirms, unable to get taehyung's terrified, bruised, tear stained face out of her mind. "can you come, or do i need to walk?" she shudders, even as she says the words. she'd rather not walk that far by herself, but she supposes if she has to, she will. she kicks herself a little for not getting chanyeol's number when she'd seen him earlier. as much as she would hate to impose again, at least she knows he's safe, and that he'd get her home in one piece.

"no, i can come," joohyun says, sounding like she's breaking into a smile. "are you still at work?"

yerim shakes her head before she realizes that joohyun can't see it over the phone. "no, i'm at the park down the street. i just...i didn't want to be there right now."

"okay," joohyun agrees easily. "i'll leave in a bit here, i just need to finish something up really quick. will you be okay for say, a half hour?"

yerim wants to say no, because those insecure, horrible feelings are creeping in again, but she doesn't. she just offers a small noise of acquiescence into the speaker, not quite trusting her voice. it's not that long of a wait, and it's still bright daylight outside, sunset a ways off yet. it should bring her comfort, but it _doesn't,_ and joohyun's voice breaks into her thoughts, startling her.

"i'll be there soon," she promises. "be safe, and i'll see you in a bit."

"okay," yerim says, voice quiet. "see you soon, eonni."

"bye bye," joohyun says, voice a lot brighter, the phone going dead before yerim can finish her own goodbye. it's not exactly normal for joohyun to hang up so quickly, and her stomach sinks. what _else_ could go wrong today?

it's the wrong question to ask.

she hasn't been sitting for five minutes on the bench in the dappled sunlight when a car parks on the side of the road in front of her. it's not necessarily a strange thing, and she tries to push down the paranoia. it _is_ a parking spot after all. the fact that it's a shiny black foreign car sends warning bells off in her head, but maybe if she pretends to be busy, everything will be fine.

_predators like it when their prey is scared, when they run. it's a mistake a lot of our girls make, and why they become targets_ , joohyun had once said. yerim hopes she hasn't become a target _again_ , swallowing down the dark thoughts and pulling up candy crush on her phone. if she doesn't seem scared, she won't attract attention. logic.

there's footsteps, but she tries to ignore them, willing her brain to accept that everything is fine, and isn't as bad as her overactive instincts are making it out to be. she needs to be careful, yes, but to assume everyone is after her is crazy, and a little bit egotistical, if she's being honest.

"hi," a voice says, uncomfortably close. it's male, and yerim works hard to hide a shudder, not glancing up.

there's an awkward pause, as the stranger moves in even closer. yerim can see his shoes, his jeans through her bangs. gray converse, ripped blue jeans. it could be anyone, but she still doesn't raise her gaze, fingers flying over her game, blowing up candy bombs all over the place.

_sweet!_

_delicious!_  

"uhm," the stranger continues after a second, voice louder, as if maybe he thinks she can't hear him. it's a good idea, to play deaf, and she doesn't respond. "can i use your phone for a second?" the man asks. "i need to make a call and mine is dead."

she doesn't say anything, and he's too close for her to pop up a text to joohyun without him seeing what it says. he sounds genuine, but yerim still can't bring herself to look up and answer him. taehyung she trusts, chanyeol she trusts—any other boy might as well be the tormentors she ran from a year ago.

"are you okay?" he asks, voice soft, but there's an edge to it that she doesn't like, and she has to choke down hysteria, panic when he reaches out and brushes her arm. there's a rolex on his wrist, and she feels like she's going to throw up.

_you like it? it's my pre-present. that is, you sold for so much that even the half we got in advance was enough for it. doesn't that make you happy, that you're worth so much?_  

it's probably not the same one, and the gesture itself is innocent enough, but it still makes her so uncomfortable that her fight or flight kicks in and she stands, finally looking up at him, phone clutched tight in her hand. all of the blood leaves her face, and she's so lightheaded she's surprised she doesn't just float away.

he's tall, with chestnut brown hair and equally brown eyes. there's a smile on his face that should put her at ease, but it doesn't, because it's the same one that accompanies the awful, awful words, "oh, yerim-ah. i didn't realize it was you. what a pleasant surprise."

she doesn't know if it makes her feel better, or worse, that he wasn't after her specifically, just any pretty girl sitting alone on a park bench. she's so choked with fear she can't say anything, shaking so hard she has to grip her phone harder so she doesn't drop it.

changmin smiles, like everything in the world is fine, when it _isn't_. "no hello for me?"

she shakes her head, backing up and nearly screaming when she hits the post with all the bus times on it. it's like the entire world is against her, and she feels tears welling in her eyes, hating that all her bravado from earlier in the restaurant is gone. she probably couldn't hit changmin in the face with a spatula right now, even if she wanted to. everything feels numb, and she wishes she'd asked chanyeol for his phone number. he'd come save her, she knows he would.

after all, he was the one that saved her last time.

"at least you remember me," changmin says, smile widening, and she hears the car door open, less than a meter from them.

"we don't have all day," another voice calls from inside, also male, and also one that makes yerim want to pass out on the spot. "get her in the car."

"working on it," changmin says back, smile fading a little as he holds a hand out to yerim. "we can make this easy, or we can make this hard." he snorts a little, smirking, and yerim feels so, so sick.

"no," she says, aware that it doesn't really fit in with anything he's said, but it's all she can manage. she will not take changmin's hand, will not get into yunho's car, not after they ruined her life the first time.

"come on, honey," changmin coos, taking a step closer.

yerim takes a step back, around the pole, trying to inconspicuously dial the police. changmin notices, and charges her before she can even think to take a stand. the blow knocks her back into the grass, her palms stinging at the impact and changmin stomps her phone under his shoe, cracking the screen until the whole thing goes dark with a foreboding fizzle.

yerim can't breathe past the fear, the tears choking her. why is it that she can talk back and fight back when it's dumb boys insulting her crush, but when her life literally depends on it, it's all she can do to stay conscious and not faint? logically, she knows it's because some people's fear response is to simply shut down, but she hates that she's one of them.

changmin's tall, with long legs, yes, and good at fighting, as one has to be, being a bodyguard and all, but she's sure she could outrun him if she could just get her legs to work. her anything to work.

"now," yunho hisses.

"yeah, yeah," changmin mumbles, reaching down and yanking yerim to her feet harshly. it wrinkles her pretty pink top, his fingers digging in until she's sure she'll be bruised.

_but at least her screams will carry if something goes wrong again._

except they aren't, because she can't work up the air for a decent scream and the street is scarily empty of anyone except an old man down the road who's paying them no attention. she can see the mcdonald's from here, but they'd never hear her, even if she screamed with everything she had.

"come on, honey," changmin says, wrapping his other arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side as he mostly drags her to the car. she struggles, but weakly because she's dizzy and lightheaded and can't remember the last time she got a full breath, choked as she is.

_the best way to get over fear is to conquer it, yerim. be independent again, if you can. enjoy what you want. the world is yours, so act like it._

there's so many tears clouding her vision she can't see anything as changmin grabs her hair and roughly shoves her into the backseat, crawling in with her so she can't escape out the other side. he forces the seat belt on her, tightening it until it hurts, and she's just thankful she's wearing pants today—they're so much harder to get off than skirts are.

_i just wanted to enjoy the sunlight in the park after a bad day at work_ , she thinks, chest heaving with a half sob, everything spinning.

changmin strokes her hair, like she's a dog he's petting, voice far, far away. "how much do you think we'll get this time, now that we've found her again and she's in better condition than the first time?"

yunho's voice is even farther away, hazy. she can't even tell if the car is moving, and distantly, she realizes she must have dropped her purse when they dragged her in. maybe the police will find it, and somehow come save her. "a fair bit more, i think. especially since the buyer really wanted her back."

"she's even all dolled up this time. look at these nails."

"how cute."

"she's filled out a little, not as skinny as last time either."

a laugh. "you didn't notice the best part, did you?"

yerim's so far gone she barely registers changmin yanking at the neck of her blouse. pastel pink, silk. a gift from chanyeol as they'd parted ways. "oh i did, i assure you. cute white lace cups, too."

the words are too much, swirling around until she can't hear them anymore at all, only a loud ringing in her ears before everything goes dark.

_what e_ lse _could go wrong today?_

_everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for making it this far o/ <3

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, if you made it this far
> 
> if you liked it, awesome. if you didn't, sorry about that.
> 
> feedback is always appreciated and thank you for your time \o/


End file.
